Chapter 1 – cat #2
His dissecting gaze leaves my face and flickers down to the gold name tag on my blouse. The one confirming that yes, I’m a waitress who’s not supposed to be here. His full lips press into a taut line, and I start to think maybe I’m not in the clear after all.
Well, goodbye job, apartment, and financial semi-stability.
It was nice knowing you.
Instead of answering me and confirming my fears, he pulls a black key card from his pocket and waves it in front of the glossy reader beneath the buttons.
He pauses before pressing one, lifting a brow in my direction.
“What are you doing in here?”
I’m so caught off guard by the question that my brain freezes. “I…”
As the suited Adonis steps back to get a better look at me, I realize that I recognize him. The sharp jawline and black hair that shines with the colors of an oil slick under the light. I remember thinking he looked like Superman’s slightly villainous brother the first time I saw him.
He lives on one of the top floors of the building, and he often stops by the restaurant for a glass of Twisted Devil whiskey late in the evening. I’ve never served him myself—the hosts always put him in a booth in the back, in a section I rarely cover.
I know his reputation, though. The staff are always trading gossip about the building residents, since they stop by the steakhouse more than most people.
Mr. Tall and Brooding is infamous for being…
well, tall and brooding. He’s the building’s resident grump, and he hates it when servers try to make conversation.
He communicates in one-word sentences, and only when a grunt won’t suffice as an answer.
Tonight he seems different, though, which is probably why I didn’t recognize him straight off.
At the restaurant, his suits are always pristine, perfectly pressed, and accessorized with a subtly colored tie and coordinating watch.
Tonight, though, he’s…undone. His hair, usually perfectly styled, is slightly mussed, like he’s been dragging his fingers through it.
His tie was abandoned somewhere, and his dress shirt sleeves are rolled into the creases of his elbows, the top few buttons left undone, revealing a strong, masculine neck.
I rack my brain for his name, sure one of the other servers must’ve mentioned it at some point, but come up empty.
God, I’m staring. I’m staring and gaping and can’t form a single coherent thought long enough to string together a reply.
Come on, Cat. Wake up.
You’ve got to convince this guy not to get you fired.
“I…” I try again, swallowing hard. “I was just—”
“This elevator is off-limits,” he says, his brows drawing together as he reaches over and pulls a brass knob that stops the elevator from ascending any further.
I hang my head. Guess he’s not letting me off the hook after all.
“Look, I know, okay? I’m not supposed to be in the elevator. I’m sorry. I never should’ve–”
“No,” he says in an almost growl, his nostrils flaring. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then…what?”
“I know you wouldn’t be using it unless there was a reason,” he says slowly, enunciating every word. “Something’s…wrong. What happened?”
By the intent way he’s studying me, I can tell he expects a thorough explanation. His steel gray eyes alight on my tense shoulders, my flushed cheeks, and the crease in my forehead before falling to my chest.
I remember now. He’s the CEO of United Protection Services.
And I just used his private elevator without the appropriate clearance.
Shit.
“It’s nothing,” I blurt, inclining my head to the buttons behind Prince Frowning that are lit and waiting for him to make a new selection. “Could you hit the lobby floor for me?”
If it’s possible, his frown deepens even more.
I realize my nipples are still hard as tiny pebbles from the walk-in fridge and cringe inwardly. Clearing my throat, I cross my arms across my chest to conceal them, making mental promises to buy a better bra as I point to the buttons.
God, why does he keep staring like that?
“It’s the one with the L on it,” I say before I can stop myself. “Right there.”
“Not until you tell me why you look like you were chased into this elevator by a rabid dog.”
I bark a laugh before I can stop myself, clamping my mouth shut.
I mean, he’s not far off.
His gray eyes silently interrogate me, and I squirm beneath them, huffing out another uncomfortable laugh.
“It wasn’t a dog,” I admit, trying to keep my tone light. “It’s the new chef on rotation. He’s harmless, but I didn’t feel like dealing with him tonight.”
“So you hid in the private elevator?” he asks, angry concern lining his forehead.
I give him a pained shrug in reply.
“What’s his name? The new chef.”
My lips part in surprise. Nothing good can come from me telling him—even if he told my boss’s boss about it, nobody’s going to fire a chef to appease a waitress.
“I’d rather forget about the whole thing,” I say. “Don’t worry about it.”
His jaw flexes, and I can almost see the wheels turning in his head.
“You won’t mind if I walk you out to your car, then,” he says finally.
My mouth almost falls open. Prince Frowning wants to play bodyguard for me? That’s…unexpected.
“I don’t have a car,” I explain. “I usually just walk, but I was going to take the bus tonight.”
“Alright. I’ll walk you to the bus stop, then.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t.”
“You’re kind of bossy, aren’t you?”
The words slip out before I can think better of them, and I cringe. He’s already done me a favor—the last thing I should be doing is insulting him.
To my surprise, he laughs. Not a belly laugh—just a low chuckle, but it’s enough to disarm me. His voice is deep and rich, but his laugh is like honeyed whiskey, and I’d kill for another taste.
“Nate Walsh,” he says, offering me his hand. “And I’m only bossy when it matters.”
I fight back a smile. Nate. Right. That’s what his name was.
“Caitlin Daniels,” I reply, taking his warm, callused hand into mine. He squeezes firmly, his hold on my hand lingering just a second too long.
I gulp and pull away. “But mostly people just call me Cat.”
“Cat,” he says, as if trying it on for size, and I shiver.
He flicks his key card to the reader again and presses the lobby button. Is this really happening?
Is this rich grump actually going to walk me to the bus stop?
When the elevator comes to a stop and the doors open, someone’s standing in front of them.
Harry’s eyes are glazed from the drinks he had after his shift, but they spark when he sees me. He must’ve seen me run into the elevator after all. And he’s been standing here, waiting. Like a total creep.
“There you are.”
I shiver for an entirely different reason now, and when Harry takes a lurching step forward, I freeze. My muscles go tight, my knees lock, and I can’t speak. It’s the same way I reacted yesterday.
Goddamn it. In a battle of fight or flight, why does my body always have to choose fawn?
Next to me, Prince Frowning clears his throat. I peer up at him and see that he’s glowering at Harry. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t give him a name—it’s pretty damn obvious who’s harassing me.
“That’s far enough,” he says in a stern baritone that makes Harry slow his approach.
I try to will myself to speak but nothing comes out.
“You’re the new chef, right?” my new bodyguard asks, his voice cold and rough.
“Yeah,” Harry answers, his lip curling. “Who wants to know?”
“I live in the building. I need a word with you.”
Oh no.
If Nate picks a fight, this only ends one way. With Harry on his ass and the both of us fired for causing an issue with one of the residents.
Cold dread pools in my stomach as he stares down Harry. I hate violence.
I open my mouth to say something—to try to defuse the situation—but Nate surprises me again.
“I wanted to discuss the menu for our poker night next Thursday,” he says. He claps his hand on Harry’s shoulder hard enough to make the chef flinch. “I have some requests.”
Harry’s eyes widen, his expression shifting from aggressive to pleased. One of the building’s wealthiest residents is making a personal request.
In the blink of an eye, I’m all but forgotten.
The two men walk toward the couches in the atrium, making muffled conversation.
Nate turns to give a look that says ‘go’ as loudly as he can with his eyes.
Thank you, I mouth to him before slipping back into the restaurant to get my purse, eager to put as much distance between myself and can’t-take-a-hint-Harry as I can for the night.